Gothic Story Flashcards
Setting
It was a grey, dreary, winter’s afternoon
As he stood up, the mist rolled across pavements with a yellow tinge from the flickering gas lamps and a few drops of rain fell slowly from the swirling black clouds, up above.
Young gentleman description
The young gentleman was sagacious, austere, backward in sentiment and always acted with the utmost decorum; his suavity resulted in a plethora dinner invitations of which he mostly avoided despite his fondness of wine and conversation. The charitable man always made an effort to give to the poor and mendicants.
Sacred gentleman description
Mr Robert Grayson, a supercilious and sanctimonious man whom most try to avoid.
Yet the poor man was shaking, his eyes were hollow, his skin was tinted black and his wrinkles looked more pronounced than when last they met. Being a Christian, Mr Turner felt it was his moral obligation to find out why Mr Grayson was in such a terrified state.
Dialogue
“Oh God! Oh God”
“Help me kind Sir,”
“Pray! Tell me what ails you,”
“It is such a dreadful business,”
“For I have seen the very work of Satan himself!”
“I implore you to tell me what has past,”
Dialogue description
The poor man shouted in distress with his hands clasped together, looking up to the heavens.
Begged.
Cried out.
Returned Mr Turner feeling ever more anxious.
Mr Grayson let out a half groan and slowly sat down on the mouldy, wooden bench behind him with his head in his rough, corse hands.
Shaky voice
Mr Grayson paused for a moment and drew a large breath, then continued with his tale, growing steadily more pale like the snow on the ground.
Gothic creature description
There came a near deafening scream, not that of a child but a demon, I tell you! No words on this Earth can describe the sight that beheld me.
The scream came from my bedroom, inside the armoire where Henry had chosen to hide. I entered the room and before me were the shattered remains of my best mirror that once stood proudly above the mantle and my ruby, velvet curtains had been slashed and destroyed beyond recognition. I stumbled towards the the grand, ornate wardrobe, which was once the centre piece of the room. My hands trembled as I opened the decrepit, decaying door and there she stood; rather there it stood like a disembodied spirit casting a shadow, over poor young Henry.
I have been shaken to my very core my blood is frozen. When will this morbid nightmare end I ask you?
Outsider reaction
A sprit, a ghost; surely not my friend, you must be mistaken.
Mr Grayson was unable to continue and he began to rock to and fro like a creaking, rocking horse in a child’s playroom. Mr Turner, on the other hand, remained calm but was in turmoil, he was quite sure the story could not hold any truth yet something had scared the man so terribly.
Ending
Mr Turner could not leave the poor, tortured soul here, nor could he take him to hospital as he would surely be put in a mental institute for the demented; instead he took Mr Grayson’s hand and half carried, half dragged him back to his own quarters against his better judgement.
